Mikey, Keep Moving Forward
by Jake Nickleby
Summary: After being woken up from potentially being traumatized during his childhood, Michael Yagoobian has to face the challenges of moving his future forward.
1. Meet Michael Yagoobian

Disclaimer: All characters and events related to _Meet the Robinsons_ are owned by William Joyce and Walt Disney Animated Studios.

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Prologue: Meet Michael Yagoobian

"Dad," Wilbur whined, sitting cross-legged on the picnic blanket. "Do I really have to sit here until Uncle Mike gets here?" His father rolled his eyes. The boy was thirteen years old, and here he is behaving like a boy half his age.

"Whatever, Wilbur," the blonde man responded. "Just go play." The dark haired boy wasted no time, and ran down the grassy hills in the sunny park. A man coming from the opposite direction waved to Cornelius.

He smiled at Michael as he watched the younger man lift his six-year-old daughter, Abigail onto his shoulders. From afar, he could see Michael's nine-year-old son, Basil run towards the father-daughter duo with a baseball in one hand, and a catcher's mitt in the other.

He grew up very handsome, Cornelius thought. There was no trace of Bowler Hat Guy in him. He continued to watch as Basil tossed the ball to his younger sister. The nine-year-old looked so much like his father when the man was his age. Watching made him remember the baseball-loving kid, and wondered what was the change in the boy's life that made him grow up to be such a happy and handsome young man.

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End of Prologue

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18 August 2007


	2. My Little Punky

For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please refer to chapter one.

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Chapter One: My Little Punky

Michael walked down the school's hallway with his beloved unicorn binder clutched to his side. It was Friday afternoon and he had his championship baseball game to attend.

"Hey, Goob!" a tall kid wearing an olive green polo shirt adorned with three wide red, blue, and white stripes, and black trousers called as he noticed Michael walking by. He ran a hand through his short, black hair. "Wanna come over to my house today?"

"No, thanks," Michael mumbled as he continued to walk by. He nearly walked right into fair-haired Lavinia Josten from his class who was anxiously looking around.

"Hi, Mikey!" she said excitedly.

"Oh, hi Lavinia," he responded in his usual mopey attitude. The pig-tailed girl bent down to look under a nearby bench. "What'cha doin'?" he asked.

"Oh, I lost something that's very important to me!"

"Oh, is that so?" he blankly stated, taking a sip from his apple juice box. "What did you lose?"

"Oh! Uh," she exclaimed nervously. She took a quick glance at Michael's binder before bursting out in hysteria.

"Hey! You like _My Little Punky_, too?" He quickly hid the binder behind his back.

"Um…" he started out, blushing fiercely while staring down at his feet. "…yes…"

"I absolutely love _My Little Punky_!" she exclaimed, closing her eyes in delight. A huge smile spread across her face, and she began tapping her fingers together.

Her nervousness irritated Michael. Lavinia's hyperactive personality always had her in motion. She acted if she was wired on caffeine all the time. Did she even sleep? It made Michael tired just thinking about it. He wondered what would be worse- having Lewis as a roommate or having Lavinia as a roommate?

"Well," she said, "that's actually what I lost…" She put on a fake sad face. "I lost my Little Punky doll! I've looked everywhere, too! It has to be around, somewhere!"

"Hmm… have you checked the Lost-and-Found?" Lavinia put a finger to her lips, thinking. Michael had never seen her be so still and quiet for this long.

"Why, no, I haven't. That seems like a logical place to look. I wonder why I hadn't thought of it before." Michael shrugged his shoulders, taking another sip from his juice box.

"Well," she yelled happily, turning to run in the opposite direction, "thanks for your help!" Giving a quick, enthusiastic wave, she fled down the hall.

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End of Chapter One

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19 August 2007


	3. Gravestone Rubbings

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Chapter Two: Gravestone Rubbings

Michael could not decide whether he should either run or skip, so he did a little bit of both. He was running and skipping wildly down the street because was just so happy that he had won his champion game. Plus, he wanted to get home extra early for his adoption interview, and to show off his spectacular trophy to Mildred.

After flailing about for some time, Michael decided to just stick with running. He nearly coming to a screeching halt when he realized he was running along the side of the city's cemetery gates. Usually, walking by such a place would terrify him, but it was still sunny out, and he was much too happy to care, so he figured this was the perfect place to take a shortcut.

Michael stopped running and instead began skipping again, until he felt his foot trip on a large rock. Lying headfirst in the dirt, he flipped himself over and examined the object at his feet. He discovered that it was not a rock at all, but a lavender pony doll with its mane cut into a mohawk style, and glittery makeup applied on the doll's face. In Michael's opinion, the ridiculous toy resembled a bit like Glam rock star David Bowie, though he was a bit too young to know who David Bowie really was.

Listening to the silence around him, he heard only the sound of someone humming happily. The humming was clear and sweet, so the person was somewhere nearby. He looked around, seeing no one in sight.

He stood up, picking up the doll as he did. From behind a tombstone, he saw golden red pigtails several feet away. With paper in one hand and a charcoal stick in another, Michael observed the young girl place the paper against a marble slab and drag the charcoal across the paper. The nine-year-old walked over to where she was sitting. He finally identified the girl as none other than his classmate, Lavinia Josten.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Gravestone rubbings," came her cheerful reply.

There was a short period of silence before he asked, "Okay, why are you doing it?"

"Oh," she said, continually being merry. "I always come every Friday to visit Mommy. I make rubbings of a gravestone each visit. I'm making a scrapbook." Michael looked down at the toy in his hands.

"This is the doll you were looking for, wasn't it, Lavinia?" She nodded her head enthusiastically.

"It was in the Lost-and-Found, just like you suggested! And…" she continued, "You could call me La-La if you want to. That's what my daddy calls me."

"Why would he call you La-La?" he asked with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, when I was a baby, my daddy went to check on me while I was sleeping, and he said that I was singing in my sleep!"

"Mm-hmm," came the response. Michael had nothing else to say. He shuffled his feet uncomfortably, then asked after another period of silence, "Did your mom die in a fire?"

"No," she answered. Now she did not seem so darn happy, but rather curious. "She passed away with cancer when I was only a baby. When I was almost two. Why do you ask?" Michael continued to shuffle his feet.

"No reason." There was yet again another period of silence, except this time it lasted much longer. It made Michael uncomfortable. "Do you have anyone named Yagoobian in your scrapbook?"

Lavinia's expression brightened again, and she nodded her head with her typical enthusiasm. "Oh, yes! Matthew, Cindy, and Timothea!" She pulled the scrapbook that laid beside her into her lap, and opened it up. Tearing out three pages, she handed the papers to Michael. "You can keep those if you want," she said. "I'll make new ones to put in my scrapbook."

"Thanks," he said with no real emotion in his voice. Folding the papers, he tucked it in his pocket. He heard the cemetery's clock tower chime four o'clock. "I'm late!" he panicked. Then, calmly, he looked down at Lavinia. "You know, you should really hang onto your _My Little Punky_ doll, or you're going to lose it again."

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End of Chapter Two

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20 August 2007


	4. The Greeting Card

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Chapter Three: The Greeting Card

Michael slunk into his bedroom, his trophy practically dragging behind him. He lifted his head to see a twelve-year-old boy with feathery blonde hair, shutting the snaps on an old, brown suitcase. It was his roommate, Lewis, packing up his belongings. Lewis had been adopted, and now he was leaving to go live with his new family.

The pre-teen turned around, looking a little worried. He immediately noticed the red, puffy eyes of the younger boy. "Goob…"

"Oh. Hi, Lewis," Michael muttered, ignoring the young inventor's concern, or the fact that he had been called "Goob". "Congratulations on winning the science fair," he said, dropping the trophy to the floor. "I've gotta admit," he jabbered on, sitting down on lower portion of the bunk- his bed. "Your new invention is pretty neat. I wish I had a memory scanner…"

A wad of crumpled-up pieces of paper appeared by the trophy. Lewis picked it up, and smoothed out the pages. He read the top page:

_Timothea Yagoobian_

_Loving daughter and sister_

_August 21__st__, 1993- September 7__th__, 2001_

"Goob…" Lewis began, swallowing a huge lump in his throat. Usually, Michael would get defensive about being called by that nickname, but he was too upset to bother to glare at Lewis. Still, Lewis did not want to take any chances to make Michael even more upset.

"Mikey…" he corrected himself. "Do you remember when you first came to the orphanage?" Michael shook his head. He barely retained any memories before his life at the orphanage. The traumatic loss that happened five and a half years ago left him little to remember.

"That unicorn binder of yours… you wouldn't let it go. If anyone tired to take it from you, you'd scream and cry." Lewis dared to laugh lightly. "Boy, did you scream."

"Lewis…" Michael squeaked. "You think I can see them? You know, using your memory scanner?"

The older boy's breathing became slow and deep. Finally, after several moments of consideration, he spoke, "Are you sure you want to do this?" Michael nodded. The blonde bit his lip, but slowly nodded his head in agreement. "Alright."

The young inventor hesitated, then hastily picked up the headset, and placed it gently over Michael's head. Punching in some numbers, he muttered the date to himself, "Five years, six months, and twenty-three days ago…"

The screen lit up, showing small hands brushing prosthetic blonde hair. This was Michael's life through the eyes of his four-year-old self. A man and a woman's voice echoed from the background.

"Cindy, the boy's a pansy!"

"Matthew, if he likes to play with dolls, then you should let him. It will not affect his maturity growth."

"He will get beat up on the playground!"

"Oh nonsense, Matthew. It's his birthday today. Just let him enjoy it."

"Well, it's not going to stop me form signing him up for baseball…"

The voices droned on as one white and one hot pink sneaker with one yellow and one turquoise sock appeared on the screen. The person kneeled down into view, and smiled. "Happy birthday, Mikey!"

Long, mousy brown hair fell off the girl's shoulder as she pulled a wrapped present from behind her back. The doll was discarded, and decorated paper went flying across the room. Pulling open the box's lid, a greeting card and the gift was placed carefully inside.

Hands reached inside the box and clung onto the gift. "Yay!" came the boy's delighted squeal. Looking down at the present, a finger traced along the glittery outline of the picture. A unicorn binder- just what he always wanted!

The girl pointed to the card that was lying abandoned on the floor. "Read it!" She then tapped her chest. "_I_ drew it myself! _And_ I even wrote all those big words with no help!"

The boy opened up the card. "That's my name!" he exclaimed, reading the only word he knew how to read. The girl took the card, adjusted the black headband on her head, and sat cross-legged on the carpet. She cleared her throat and announced, "Dear, Mikey, when you play baseball, I won't care if you win or lose. I will still love my little brother. Love, Timmy."

She closed the card, and blinked straight at the screen. "Do I hear a 'thank you, Timmy?'"

"Thank you, Timmy!" Then there was a faint sound of yawning.

"Oh, Mikey. You need your nap."

"But I don't wanna take a nap!"

Timmy jumped up from her seat, and rushed over to the boy's bed. Still wearing her mix-matched socks and sneakers, black and white striped leggings, worn denim skirt overalls, and hot pink tee shirt, the girl jumped onto the four-year-old's bed. "I'll take it with you!"

"Okay..." he mumbled.

Still clutching onto his present, Michael hurried over to his bed, and flopped onto his bed next to his sister, feeling her warm embrace around him.

Lewis shut off the memory scanner. "Um, Mike, I have to go now. And you have an adoption interview to go to."

"Thanks, Lewis," Michael sniffled, wiping his runny nose with his sleeve. "I needed that."

"Uh, don't mention it…" Lewis shifted his feet. "So, I guess this is goodbye…" Michael nodded.

"It's been the craziest, most dreadful, most sleepless five years as your roommate." Lewis smiled and nodded in agreement. "So… see you around?" Michael asked, extending out his arm. The older boy took his hand and shook it.

"Yeah, I'll see you soon."

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End of Chapter Three

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27 August 2007


	5. Chicken Soup

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Chapter Four: Chicken Soup

"Mikey! Mikey, wake up! Please, please wake up!" he heard someone shout as the person vigorously shook him awake.

"T-Timmy…" he said groggily, still clutching his unicorn binder. The smoky air stung his eyes and filled into his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.

"We need to get out now!" the girl urgently commanded. Her dark hair fell over her face, covering her features from Michael's view.

"Why?" he yelled, panicked tears rolled down his cheeks. The eight-year-old grabbed the younger boy by the wrist, and pulled him towards the window. She slid the glass panel upward, and helped Michael out onto the fire escape. He let out a cry when he saw the ground, four stories below, through the gaps of the metal cage.

"I'm scared!"

"I know you are, but you'll be safe!" she called, readying herself to run back inside the apartment.

"Timmy, don't go!"

"Mom and Dad are still inside! I have to go back!" Smoke traveled through the room and slowly out the window.

"Don't leave me!" he cried.

"I'll come back for you, I promise!" Then she disappeared into the black clouded room. Sirens roared down the street, coming closer and closer. He saw a blur of yellow and a shining, bright light shone in his eyes.

"You'll be alright, kid. We'll get you down safely," he heard the yellow blur say. "Put your book down, and come here."

"NO-O-O!" Michael screamed as he slowly lost his consciousness.

"Michael… Michael, wake up," a voice murmured as a hand shook him by the shoulder. His eyes opened. His hot and sweaty body had been tossing from side to side on his old, stained mattress. His rapid, shallow breathing began to become slow and steady.

"Mildred," he whined, turning onto his side, facing the peeling papered-wall. "I don't feel so good…" The nine-year-old felt a cool had spread across his forehead.

"Hmm… You have a fever… Better stay in bed for the day." Michael let out a whimper as Mildred quietly exited the room.

"Timmy…" he mumbled to himself before drifting off to sleep again.

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"Michael," he heard Mildred called to him. He opened his eyes, realizing he slept the afternoon away. "You have a visitor. Would you like me to send her in?" He blinked, and then barely nodded his head. Mildred left to usher the visitor to the bare bedroom.

Closing his eyes momentarily, he heard footsteps approach his bedside. Slowly he reopened his eyes to see the loud flowered print on a pastel pink jumper, and a red, plaid-pattered, plastic thermos hanging by the person's side. Oh no, Michael thought, Not her. The figure leaned forward, and La-La's beaming face came into view.

"Hi, Mikey!" Michael wanted to pull his blanket over his head and hide away.

"How did you know where I lived?"

"Your name was in the school directory!" La-La explained. "I felt so bad when I found out that you were sick today… So I made you some chicken soup!" She held up the thermos she was holding.

"Um… thanks… You could just… put it on the nightstand over there…" Michael hoped La-La would set the thermos down and then left, but to his disappointment, La-La dragged Lewis' old swivel chair up to his bed and sat right down.

"Um, La-La?" Michael interrupted, pulling the covers up underneath his nose. "I appreciate the company, but… I just don't feel well. I think I just want to get some sleep…"

"But I brought Davie over! He always makes me feel better whenever I'm sick, and I'll bet he'll get you better in no time!"

"Who's Davie?" Michael asked as he pushed away the covers from his face, dazed. He watched La-La pull something out of her back pocket. It was the pony doll. "Mrph," came his strange response. "His name is Davie?"

"Yup! After the super-glam rock star, David Bowie!"

"I figured…" he mumbled, pulling the blankets once again up to his nose. She held the doll towards Michael.

He tried to sit up, and then motioned to the thermos on the nightstand. La-La reached for it, and pulled the red cap off. The hot liquid poured from the spout, into the cup. Handing the top to Michael, he took it gently and sloppily slurped up the tasty broth.

"This is…" he started, staring into the steaming cup in his hands, "…good! Where did you get it?"

"Like I said, I made it. All from scratch. My mommy was a really good cook, or at least that's what my daddy says. He's not that great of a chef, but he did the best he could; teaching me the old recipes my mommy had."

"Mm…" was all Michael could say as he took another sip of soup. He set the cup down in his lap. "Do you… ever miss her?"

"Not really," she replied in her usual carefree manner. "I know she's always with me, and plus, I still have daddy." Michael's eyebrows knitted together with confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"My daddy lives with me at home, silly," La-La giggled, "I mean, why else would I—"

"No, I meant the part about your mom. What do you mean that she's always with you…?"

"Well, even when someone close to you passes away, they're never really gone, you know? They're angels, always watching over you." Michael began to stare at the soup again. Was La-La right? Could there really be such things as angels? Was Timmy an angel, watching over him?

He glared at the swirling bits of chicken in the soup. If there were really such things as angels, if Timmy was really watching over him, then how come they let him get beat up and picked on everyday? Lavinia Josten was just full of baloney.

"Oh, I know! Daddy calls me that all the time. I'm full of baloney!" Michael blushed. He had not realized that his comment actually slipped out of his mouth. He finished the soup and handed back the cup to La-La. Turning to his side and wrapping his blanket around his head, he muttered, "Thanks again, for the soup."

"You're welcome," he heard her whisper back as she tried to quietly exit the room before he fell into another deep slumber. His eyes snapped open, and glanced at the old alarm clock on Lewis' desk. Another two hours had gone by in no time. Michael sat up, feeling much better than before, but now there was something hard and lumpy that appeared from underneath him.

Reaching for the object, he grabbed plastic fibers, and pulled out Davie from its tail. Michael stared at the doll for a moment. Maybe it had made him better after all, and maybe La-La was not so full of baloney.

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End of Chapter Four

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1 September 2007


	6. Happy Birthday

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Chapter Five: Happy Birthday

Five months goes fast. Maybe not to a nine-year-old boy who spends his entire summer playing catch by himself, but it does. Five months had went by, and neither had he have been adopted nor had another roommate come to live with him.

It seemed like last Friday was the day Michael made the winning catch. That was March thirtieth of 2007. Now it was another Friday. His tenth birthday. September seventh of 2007.

At an early age, Michael already outgrew birthdays. There was not much to like about birthdays anymore. Not since his family had died in that fire on the night he turned four.

Michael slumped over the lunch table, picking at the lettuce inside of his sandwich. Fourth grade was just so different. He hoped he could make it through the rest of the day, because he was not sure if he was enjoying first week of school. At least on the bright side, Lavinia Josten was not in his class this school year.

Just the thought of her gave him a headache. Michael set his sandwich down in his lap, and tried to soothe his achy head. He felt a bit ashamed when he thought such things about the girl. She had been nothing but nice to him, but he could not help how he felt about her. Lavinia was just too… crazy for him. She was too loud, and talkative, he could never understand why she was happy all the time about everything.

School was over before he knew it, and he began to make his way back to the orphanage, where he planned to sit alone on his bed all evening, listening to the old-fashioned radio he kept in his room. He realized how much he hated to be alone.

A sweet sound wafted through the air. Michael looked to his left. He was so deep in thought, he had not paid any attention to where he was walking. Finding himself right outside the cemetery, the boy remembered why that sweet sound was so familiar. It was Friday, so it was obviously Lavinia visiting her mother's grave and making tombstone rubbings for her scrapbook while she hummed to herself.

Intentionally, he wanted to continue walking towards the orphanage, but then he remembered he still had Davie with him after all these months. Michael reached into his backpack, pulling out the doll. He felt dumb for forgetting to return it to its owner.

"La-La?" he called, coming through the gate's opening. The humming stopped.

"Mikey!" he heard, yet he could not see anyone around. "I'm glad you're here!" He whirled around, looking behind him. The pig-tailed girl was sitting on a stone bench near the cemetery's entrance, picking off the chocolate chips in a rice square and nibbling at each one. Breaking the treat in half, the gooey marshmallow stretched in long, goopy strings.

"Um," Michael started, shifting uncomfortably. "Here's Davie," he said, handing the pony to her. "Sorry for keeping him for so long." La-La's face lit up, and she took it from him.

"I'm so glad to have it back!" Then, to Michael's surprise, she tossed it over her shoulder. "I've made a better one!" She twisted herself around to pick up a package sitting on the bench behind her. "Happy birthday!"

For a moment, Michael wondered how La-La knew that it was his birthday today. Then the answer struck him. The school directory, of course, he thought. "We'll call him Davie the second," La-La announced as he unwrapped the box. It was the first birthday present he had received in six years.

With just one glance at the present, he threw it down with tears in his eyes, and ran out of the cemetery. Never did he stopped running until he reached his bedroom, collapsing in a heap at the foot of his bed.

Now he knew the real reason why he could not stand to be around Lavinia Josten. Not because she was too loud. Not because she was too talkative. Not because he was too darn jolly all the time, but because she reminded him of his older sister.

"Timmy," he sobbed, tears pooling on his mattress. "Why did you leave me?" His sobs died down enough to hear the faint sound of the radio news.

"This just in… twelve-year-old Cornelius Robinson has just—" Michael snatched up his baseball mitt off the creaky hardwood floor and threw it at the radio.

"Why did you leave me!" he cried angrily. The ten-year-old went to retrieve his mitt off the floor when something underneath the bed caught his eye. Reaching for it, he slowly picked it up, and observed that it was a crumpled-up ball of paper. The news reporter's voice droned on as Michael smoothed the paper flat.

_Timothea Yagoobian_

_Loving daughter and sister_

_August 21__st__, 1993- September 7__th__, 2001_

Flipping the page over, Michael discovered a note written on the back that he had missed before.

"And remember," the reporter bellowed as Michael read the four-worded message at the same time of the announcement. "Always keep moving forward…"

_Mikey, keep moving forward. -Lewis_

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End of Chapter Five

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6 September 2007


	7. I've Missed You

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Chapter Six: I've Missed You

Michael blinked his tired eyes open. His neck was stiff and his left shoulder was sore. Wiping drool away from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, he sat up, realizing he had fallen asleep on the hardwood floor. Looking at his watch, he noted that in was eight o'clock in the morning. Quite early on a Saturday in his opinion, but since he was up, Michael decided to go through his morning routine.

He rubbed at his eyes, and smacked his lips. Having fallen asleep in his school clothes from the previous day, he had no need to change into a fresh, clean set of clothing. Stretching out his arms, he stood up, and as he walked out his bedroom door, he combed his hair briefly with his fingers.

"Michael," Mildred called from the kitchen's entrance as the ten-year-old ran down the stairs at rapid speed. "Would you like some breakfast?"

"No, thanks," he responded, but took a fist full of scrambled eggs, two strips of bacon, half a slice of buttered toast, and a cup of orange juice, and gulped and guzzled everything down. Wiping away excess juice and crumbs at the corners of his mouth with his sleeve, he came bursting through the orphanage's entrance.

Immediately, Michael came to a halt, as he almost tripped over a figure sitting on the stairs. The person's head was supported by her hands as her elbows were propped up with her knees. Golden pigtails swung side to side as the girl's head was lifted and turned towards Michael.

"Mikey!" she exclaimed, standing up.

"Oh," he said rather plainly. "La-La." He looked her up and down. She wore worn blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up to her ankles, a black-and-white baseball tee shirt with the sleeves coming down to the elbows, white, cotton ankle socks, and navy sneakers. Her tomboy attire changed her appearance so much that he hardly recognized her.

"I'm sorry I ran away from you yesterday," Michael mumbled.

"No, I'm sorry," she said sympathetically. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings…" He shook his head.

"You didn't hurt my feelings… Well, I know it wasn't your fault."

"I was wondering if you still can accept my gift," she told him as she picked up the colorful toy pony that rested inside a baseball mitt, laying on the step next to her. She extended her arms and held the doll to Michael.

He took the toy, and asked, "Why do you have a mitt?"

"Oh!" she said excitedly. "I was going to the park to play some ball." La-La pointed her thumb over her shoulder, in the general direction of the park. "Wanna come with me?" Michael thought for a moment. Play ball?

"Yeah!" cheered Michael.

Michael spent the entire morning playing catch with La-La. He probably had the best day of his life today. He wished he had days like this more often, now that he did not feel so lonely anymore.

"Do you think we could do this again tomorrow?" he asked exuberantly. La-La sadly shook her head.

"I won't be here tomorrow," she told him.

"Oh, then how about Monday after school?" She shook her head again.

"I won't be here anymore." Michael wiped his smile off of his face. "I'm moving tomorrow." A look of hurt spread on his face. He just barely became happy with himself, and now he was going to be alone again.

"It's not fair!" he shouted. "Why does everyone I care about keep leaving me? Why do they all forget about me? Why do I stay all alone at the orphanage? It's just not fair!"

"One day you'll leave," she said, referring to the orphanage. "And you'll forget all about me," she continued with a small smile. Despite how melancholy her words sounded, she looked pretty carefree, as if she were saying, "Just telling it like it is". "When you get adopted, you won't be lonely anymore."

"Will you forget about me when you leave?" he asked, calmly. She shrugged.

"But you promised!" he yelled. "You promised you'd stay, Timmy!" His left hand flew over his mouth. Calling La-La by his sister's name made him feel regrettably idiotic, but he was too angry to feel foolish for very long.

"I'm really sorry, Mikey," she said quietly.

"No!" he screamed. "I hate you, Lavinia Josten! I hate you!" Then he stormed home without taking one more glance at the girl. Once he reached his bedroom, he collapsed half-way on his bed, fuming. He said that he hated La-La, and though he would like to think that was true, he probably did not. He just said that so he would not have to miss her. He also knew that he probably should not stay mad at her forever, even though he could hold a long-term grudge easily.

"Mikey," he heard Lewis say in his mind, "keep moving forward." The phrase rung clear in his head, as if Lewis was saying it to him at the very moment. Michael whipped his head around, facing the open bedroom door. There stood the older, blonde boy, smiling at him.

"Lewis," Michael whispered. "Lewis!" he cried, clinging onto the pre-teen.

"I told you I'd be back to visit," he said with a small laugh. Gently pulling away, he looked down at Michael. Smiling softly, he held up a colorful gift bag and said, "Happy belated birthday!"

Michael sat down on the edge of his bed. Pulling out the bright green tissue paper and letting it float to the floor, he took out a brand-new baseball and mitt. "The baseball is inscribed," Lewis told him. "I know you're probably tired of hearing it, but I think it's really important that you remember it."

Michael turned the baseball around, and saw the golden letters impressed onto the fresh, white leather. _Mikey, keep moving forward._ A huge smile spread on the young boy's face. "You're right," he teased. "If you repeat yourself too often, people will get bored listening to you… Not that you weren't boring to listen to in the first place."

"Hey!" Lewis shouted, but could not keep himself from laughing. He joined Michael on the bed. "So… how's school going?" Michael fell silent, staring at the ball in his hands. "Not so well, huh?" Lewis assumed. "Are you being picked on?"

"Worse," Michael answered. "I'm being ignored."

"That girl waiting outside for you didn't seem to be the type to ignore you…" Lewis muttered with a sly grin. Michael looked up at him.

"Who? Lavinia?" He looked back down. "I didn't know she followed me back." Glaring at the floor, he growled, "I hate her…"

"Well, that doesn't sound very nice," Lewis said. "Especially when she obviously likes you."

"I don't care," murmured the angry ten-year-old. "She's moving away anyway." Lewis exhaled slowly.

"You don't really hate her, do you?"he asked.

"No…" Michael answered softly. "But I don't really like her either. She's too crazy. She's… too much like Timmy, " he admitted.

"Mikey," Lewis said as he put a hand on Michael's shoulder. "You need to let Timmy go, and—"

"I know, I know," Michael whined. "And 'keep moving forward.' Jeez, I told you that you're boring and repetitive. You need to get a new catchphrase!" Lewis smiled, and gave the younger boy a hug.

"It was nice seeing you again," the blonde whispered. "I'll come visit again soon. I promise." Michael shook his head.

"You don't have to promise. If you do, then I know you won't keep it. Nobody keeps promises." Lewis nodded.

"Okay, then how about, 'I'll come visit again soon… You can count on me!'" Lewis pumped his fist in the air with a false exuberant spirit. Michael nodded his head in approval.

"Really dorky," he criticized, "but at least I know you'll be back." Michael lunged forward and gave Lewis another hug. "I've missed you…" he wept to his former roommate. The older boy patted his back soothingly.

"I've missed you, too."

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End of Chapter Six

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10 October 2007


	8. Glory

Disclaimer: Text from _My Little Pony: Glory, The Magic Unicorn_ (1985) is under rights from Hasbro Bradley, Inc. For disclaimer on _Meet the Robinsons_, please see chapter one.

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Currently looking for Cover Art commissions.

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Chapter Seven: Glory

The morning sun shone through the window's dirty glass panel, gently waking the ten-year-old up. With a huge yawn, he sat up in his creaky, old bunk bed, and stretched his little arms outward. Another Monday, another day at school. Michael was not terribly excited about it, but he hoped to make the best of it.

After pulling on some grass-stained jeans and a plain, white tee shirt, he tucked his mousy brown hair underneath a baseball cap. Then, Michael grabbed his unicorn binder, his brand-new baseball and mitt, and skipped down the stairs for breakfast. The smell of maple syrup wafted from the dining room. He rushed in, sitting down at the table.

"You seem to be in a good mood today, Michael," Mildred said thoughtfully as she set down a plate of French Toast in front of him.

"Yeah, Goob," said eleven-year-old Oliver, who sat to his right. "You looked so bummed yesterday. All week, actually." Michael shrugged as he swirled his fork in the puddle of syrup on his plate.

"That was last week," he said. "Today's today. I can't keep focused on the bad stuff when all I have to do is…" He looked down at the ball he held in his mitt, carefully reading the golden lettering imprinted on the white leather. "Keep moving forward…" he finished. Shoveling his food into his mouth, he gave a muffled, "Gotta go!" and ran out of the orphanage.

As he skipped to school, Michael thought about what he said over breakfast. He heard Lewis' words all the time, but he never understood what the phrase meant. He had no idea that the saying could actually apply to him when things did not go his way. But now he understood. All he needed to do was to let it all go. Leave all the bad things behind him, and look forward to all the good things that were yet to come.

But what were those good things that were coming his way? That was the question that stuck with Michael until he walked into the school. Then as soon as he stepped through the door, the worry temporarily left his mind. He sauntered over to his desk, and sat down.

Without looking, he lifted open his desk and tried to place his binder inside, only to find out that it would not fit. Michael looked down to see a large, light brown, leather-bound book that seemed to be overstuffed with pages.

Michael flipped open to the first page, discovering a yellow, lined note with an adhesive backing stuck to it. The note was illegibly written with a raspberry red crayon, but somehow Michael managed to comprehend the message.

"Dear, Mikey," it read. "This is the scrapbook that I've been making, but I ran out of time to finish it. So I was wondering if you could finish it for me. I even put in a checklist so you know which names need to be added. Your friend, La-La."

Michael lifted up the large, heavy text book-like object, and placed it down on top of his desk. A loose piece of binder paper fell out of the scrapbook and fluttered to the floor, right by his feet from underneath the desk. He leaned forward and picked it up.

He noticed it was the checklist. He smiled. Oh, how he loved checklists. His eyes scanned over the square boxes next to the names. All but one box were crossed off. Three were crossed off, then circled over the names next to the unchecked and circled boxes:

_Matthew Yagoobian_

_Cynthia Yagoobian_

_Timothea Yagoobian_

_Glory Josten_

It were of the three pages that she had given him, the tombstones of his family. It looked like she had meant to replace the pages to complete her work, but he guessed that she still had ran out of time. She didn't have to give him those pages if he had know she was just going to replace them, but he was really glad she gave it to him anyway.

Then there was the unchecked box on the list. Staring at the last name, Michael became confused. Glory Josten? Could that have been La-La's mother? The last name was evident enough, but somehow he was not fully convinced. Well, how many people were called Josten in this town? There at least had to be more than one.

By the time school let out for the day, he thought about it some more. Maybe she was saving hers for last? For some sort of sentimental reason, he concluded, as he lugged the huge scrapbook up to his room. Heaving the record of cemetery slabs onto his desk with a loud bang, Michael went to retrieve the _Yagoobian_ pages from the inside his desk and carefully placed them in to book.

Taking out the checklist, he took out a washable-ink blue felt marker that was floating loose from the rest of his set of pens, and crossed the three names off the list once again. One more page to go.

Michael frowned a bit when he thought about La-La. She was nothing but nice to him. And he bet that she didn't tell him about moving was because she was only trying to cheer him up, and finding out about her leaving would have killed him off of his high.

Lewis had told him what had happened when La-La followed him back to the orphanage, after he had furiously ran away from her when she told him that she was moving.

* * *

"Mikey!" she cried from the front steps as she looked up the tall building, as if he could hear her from outside, all the way down three stories. "I'm sorry!" she cried, clutching the large leather-bound book in her arms, almost bigger than she was. Her baseball mitt and ball were discarded on the stony steps. "Will you please come down? I have a favor to ask you!"

Lewis walked up the stairs watching the worried ten-year-old hollering up at the orphanage. "Mikey!"

"Hey, are you okay?" the blonde pre-teen asked.

"I'm fine…" she said sadly, lowering her eyes to the ground as she stepped slowly down the stairs. She looked over her shoulder, up at Lewis. "I just wanted to say goodbye to Mikey before I left. I had something to give him."

"Mike Yagoobian, right?" Lewis said, clutching the handlebars of the gift bag he held to his side. "I'm actually going to go see him right now. Would you like me to go get him for you?"

"Nah, that's okay," La-La said sadly, lowering her eyes again, and continuing to walk down the stairs, and began to make her way down the street.

* * *

Michael left the book on his desk and stared out the window, watching the setting sun. It was just the way it was suppose to go, he assumed. You don't know what you got until it's gone. And for little ol' Mikey, it was people- family _or_ friends. He guessed that even La-La was his friend, and realized it one day too late.

He then walked over to his bed and sat down. Picking up his mitt, he placed his hand inside and began to rhythmically swing his hand, as if he were tossing a ball in the air and catching it. Looking down at his mitt, he realized he had no ball.

"Oh no!" Michael cried. He already lost his new ball! He had to find it!

Running out of the orphanage, Michael prayed that the school office was still open. Rushing up to the front door, he jiggled the handle. It was still unlocked! He dove at the brown, cardboard box containing the lost-and-found items and rummaged through the miscellaneous objects inside. Pulling out the white-leathered ball with golden lettering, Michael held it close to his chest. He was so relieved to have found it.

Sticking out of the box, a rainbow-colored corner of a book caught his attention. He reached out and took out the book. _Glory the Magical Unicorn_ read the title. Flipping the cover open, Michael took a peek at the name scribed inside. Of course, he thought. Who else would own a _My Little Punky_ storybook? And gets it lost? _Lavinia "La-La" Josten._ Well, since she moved, I guess the book could be mine now, Michael reasoned.

Tucking the book under one arm, Michael pushed himself up off of the floor and hurried out the door. He made sure he held onto his baseball tightly with two hands. No way he was letting it out of his sight again. Fleeing down the sidewalk that led out of the school, Michael worked up a momentum to get back to the orphanage in time for dinner.

When he arrived, the table was being set up by some of his fellow housemates. Just in time! And with a few minutes to spare, too. So Michael took it as an opportunity to put his stuff away and wash his hands just as Mildred would pull the main course out of the oven.

Scurrying up the steps to his room, the boy placed his baseball inside the catcher's mitt on his bedside table. Pulling the book from underneath his arm, he studied the trite yet amusing, and undoubtedly brightly colored, illustration. Turning the cover back to the first page, he read the opening sentence.

"Have you ever felt sad for no particular reason?," the text read. "Sometimes, even on the nicest of days, it's possible to feel blue."

Michael frowned. It was a silly children's book, but it somehow struck a chord with how he had been feeling for a while. Not only that, but while he stared a little more closely at the drawings, he got the strange sensation that he had seen these pictures and heard these words before.

Shutting the book and tucking it underneath his pillow, Michael made his way downstairs, stopping at the bathroom to scrub his hands clean (Mildred prohibited dirty hands during meal time) before joining the rest of the children at the table. The bread rolls steamed of buttery warmness, and the mashed potatoes looked especially nice and creamy this time. He guessed his blues wouldn't be around at least for tonight.

After his evening full of catching up with his buddies over a filling meal, and a warm bath, Michael squeezed himself in between the bed sheets and settled down in bed. He threw back his head against the pillow to soften up the stiffness, until he remembered that it was the unicorn book that made his bedding all rigid. Pulling out the book from underneath himself, he read through a few more pages.

Crawling out of bed to snatch the scrapbook from off of his desk, Michael plopped down on his bed with it sitting on his lap. Placing the storybook within the folds of the bigger book, he slid it underneath his bed and pulled the blankets over himself until he was able to fall asleep.

Four days passed by quickly, and suddenly Michael found himself at the end of the school day, walking back home. He edged closer to the cemetery, and then the reminder sparked in him.

"Ah!" he exclaimed, and he rushed to the front gate. Weaving his way through the dozens of tombs in the quarters where La-la had spent a good chunk of her free time, _Johann... Jonas... Jordan... _Then finally, he found it.

He pulled out a large white piece of paper sticking out of his unicorn binder, and a new piece of charcoal he had stashed away in his pencil tin box. Lining the paper up to the desired spot, Michael dragged the charcoal along the surface until an impression formed:

_Glory Josten_

_Beautiful Wife and Mother_

_July 7th 1959-November 14th 1999_

Next, Michael dug the checklist from out of the back pocket of his jeans and crossed the name off the list.

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End of Chapter Seven

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Author's Note: I know you're all probably upset with me for going on a four-year hiatus. That's what five years of schooling will do to ya. But seeing how I conceived my _MTR_ stories during my first year of college, and as this is my last year before transfer, I'm celebrating my one-month summer break by updating all of my work. I just want to thank you all for your loyalty- reviewing, subscribing, and favoring. I hope I have done justice to the rest of this tale for all of you stellar fans.

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27 August 2011


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